Murmurs
by thefabulouskatie
Summary: They call me insane. No, not to my face, never anything to my face but a polite smile and slow voice. I'm not sure if I believe them. Rating changed for violence.
1. Chapter 1

_They call me insane. No, not to my face, never anything to my face but a polite smile and slow voice. I'm not sure if I believe them._

The little girl tottering up to the stage is certainly not twelve. She can't be. Her little legs are much too small, too weak. For the life of me I cannot understand how she was reaped. The escort, Vibia, extends her hand to the little girl who isn't twelve as she climbs the steps to the stage. I cock my head. Up close, she looks even younger. She refuses to take the lilac skin of Vibia's hand, whimpering in fright. I have a strange urge to comfort her. I thought I had gotten over that years ago. Vibia smiles plastically and yanks the poor child to the center of the stage. She announces the girl's name again, but I don't register it.

Vibia asks for volunteers.

Silence.

The child sniffles as her counterpart is selected. An older boy, probably sixteen or seventeen shuffles up to the stage. Vibia says something, probably horribly insensitive as always, after asking for volunteers and the two shake hands. By now the girl has tears seeping out of her eyes and snaking down her face. The two are carted off to separate portions of the decrepit justice building, while the other victors, now mentors, and I made our way to the train.

There are three men and one other female, we share the task of mentoring every year, though Caius is getting rather old and cannot help as he once could. We arrive in the living room of the train, and Demetrius immediately asks an Avox for morphling. Quint and Tamora frown at him as he follows the Avox out of the room, but I make my way over to a couch and sit down. His life is already ruined, why not let him find at least one sliver of peace? Caius slowly hobbles over to a chair near where I'm sitting and sits down, mumbling about how exhausted the reaping always makes him.

"Everything exhausts you," I murmur. Tamora and Quint can't hear me, they're busy discussing strategy. Caius replies with a grunt as he leans back and closes his eyes. Within moments he is snoring. Quint glances over and sighs.

"How long did he last this year, thirty seconds?" he asks exasperatedly.

"Thirty eight," I respond quietly. Caius' face does not look peaceful when he sleeps, it is as grumpy and wrinkled as ever. I study this as Quint and Tamora continue to talk; I have a strange feeling that they're talking about me but I don't register anything they say. I look at an Avox as she enters the room, she is a few years older than me and has catered to us for as long as I have been a mentor.

"Please," I nearly whisper. She nods and scurries out of the room. I stare at the door that she exited from until she returns with my usual mug of coffee. "Thank you," I say, staring up into her eyes, the eyes that have haunted me for years. Her eyes are the exact same color as my sister's eyes. The same brown-flecked green. I blink, and I see my sister gazing down at me, smiling comfortingly. I blink again, and I see the Avox, looking at me quizzically, asking if I want anything else with her expression. I close my eyes for a moment and shake my head back and forth to clear it. She takes this as a no and walks away. By the time I open my eyes, my head is pounding. I'm tempted to find Demetrius and ask him to share his morphling but decide against it. I can't stand needles.

I'm staring at my coffee when Vibia bursts into the room with the two tributes. I look up and for a moment and am mesmerized by Vibia's new look. Again. Her skin is lavender with pale green swirly tattoos covering her. She has electric blue eyebrows swirled to match her tattoos and bright red lipstick. Her hair is also blue, but is put up on top of her head in a shockingly normal bun.

"Good day mentors!" she shrieks in her awful Capitol accent. I glance around desperately for an Avox, or really anyone who could bring me pain medication as her grating voice makes my throbbing head even more painful. Other than Caius, who was still snoring, I can only see Tamora and Quint. Both are grimacing as if Vibia's voice causes them physical pain as well.

"Here are this year's tributes!" she continues, shoving the little girl and the boy forward. The girl who certainly is not twelve has stopped sniffling, but her eyes are red and wide with fright. She flinches as Vibia tries to wrap an arm around her and scoots away. Vibia acts as if she doesn't notice. "These are Layna and Nestor!"

The room is quiet for a beat. Then Quint clears his throat and approaches the children. "I'm Quint, I'll be one of your mentors," he says, offering his hand. Nestor takes it immediately, but Layna hesitates. She does eventually shake Quint's hand though. Tamora then walks slowly forward, not wishing to scare the girl more, and murmurs in a soothing voice, "I'm Tamora. It's nice to meet both of you." She then also shakes their hands. They all then glance at me expectantly.

Oh. I was supposed to greet them as well. I set my mug on the coffee table, stand rather unsteadily, and cross to them.

"Hello," I say softly, extending my hand to Layna as I stare into her bright blue eyes. She has wispy brown hair and a pale face. I study Layna's face for a while, perhaps a second or an hour before Quint clears his throat again. I realize I haven't dropped her hand. I do so, then turn to Nestor. He extends his hand for me, and I take it. His eyes are a light brown.

"This is Delia," Tamora introduces me. I had forgotten to say my name. Something about Nestor's eyes had distracted me. Eyes always distract me. Quint gently grasps my upper arms and pulls me away from Nestor. I realize that Vibia had been saying something. Probably about me. They're always talking about me. I stand awkwardly just in front of Quint as Vibia finishes speaking and escorts the tributes to their rooms. Quint guides me back to the couch and I sit down.

"Thanks," I mumble. Quint ignores me and turns to Tamora.

"Well?" he asks her. Tamora is our oldest competent mentor, as Demetrius is always lost in the morphling and Caius is nearly always asleep. She shakes her head and looks down, her curly brown hair bouncing around her face.

"Bloodbaths," she replies, frowning at Quint. Her eyes, a shade of brown just darker than Nestor's, are troubled.

"Nestor doesn't seem so bad," Quint tries to reason. Tamora shakes her head again.

"Doesn't matter. He'll still be marked as an easy target and taken down at the Cornucopia."

"Perhaps Layna's pretending to be weak?"

"No one could fake that kind of terror."

I lose track of their conversation, surprised at myself for paying attention that long. I sip some coffee from my cup, by now it has cooled to a temperature suitable for sipping. After some time, again I can't be sure how long, their conversation escalates to bickering and it breaks into my calm reprieve.

"Why are you so negative?" Quint shouts at Tamora.

"I'm being realistic! You always think that our tributes have a chance and give them false hope!"

"You told me I had a chance in my games!"

"Because you did! Besides, we all know death is better than winning!"

The room is silent after this, even Caius' snores have stopped. Such an anti-capitol statement is forbidden, and Tamora knows it.

She giggles half-heartedly. "You know, having to put up with you dunces," she says, gently poking Quint's shoulder with her fist. He fakes a laugh too, for her sake.

"What do you say we get to know them separately tomorrow, so Layna's not too scared? They can each spend an hour with us and an hour with Delia and Demetrius," Tamora says, changing the subject artfully.

"Are you sure?" Quint asks, frowning. He doesn't need to say what he really means, that he doesn't trust Demetrius and me with a tribute for a whole hour.

Tamora shoots him a warning look, then glances at me to see if I'm listening. "Of course, Demetrius and Delia work well together." She then steps closer to Quint and whispers something in his ear. He nods.

I take another sip of my coffee as Vibia bounces back into the room.

"The tributes will join us for dinner in half an hour!" she screeches in her characteristically jarring voice. I finish my coffee and place the mug carefully on the coffee table. I stand and walk out of the room as Vibia continues to prattle about something surely irrelevant. I walk to my room on the train and lay down on my bed, scrunching up my eyes as I wait for the pain in my head to subside. Thankfully, the caffeine I've consumed keeps me from falling asleep right away. I ignore Vibia when she asks me to come to diner, and imagine that Demetrius does the same. I fight sleep as long as I am able to, but eventually I must succumb to the nightmares.

_Author's Note: I honestly have no clue where this story is going. Delia just came to me and I had to write her out. But hey, sometimes that's the most fun kind of story. I know there will be at the very least two more chapters, but I also have no clue when I'll have time to update. For anyone who is wondering, this is the 30th Hunger Games and Delia is from District Six.  
__This is my first Hunger Games fanfic, so feel free to give me constuctive criticism, or really any kind of review. It's the only way I'll get better. Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

I am haunted by eyes. Brown pairs, green pairs, blue pairs, and even a vivid red pair that are distinctly non-human crop up between horribly familiar images of tributes being torn to shreds by each other and by mutts. I try to scream but cannot, I cannot move or look anywhere but at the scene in front of me, all mutts and tributes now stalking towards me, grisly wounds and all, glaring and smirking evilly. And all of a sudden my bonds are gone and I'm screaming, screaming as I do every night and engulfed in fire. I'm burning and they're all cackling, continuing to advance. Just as the girl with flowing blonde hair, a sickening smile, one arm and one bloody stump reaches me with her knife drawn, I'm returned to my bed, screaming and thrashing and soaking wet.

"Morning, Sunshine," Demetrius says as my screams subside, standing beside my bed holding an empty bucket. He sets the bucket down and runs a hand through his dark hair. I sit up, my heart still beating at the speed of a runaway freight train, and clutch the soaking blankets around me. I wait for my head to stop spinning before looking at Demetrius, who is staring at me with an unfathomable expression. I'm shivering now and he wordlessly hands me a fairly dry blanket from the foot of my bed.

"Vibia says breakfast's in 15 minutes," he says before walking out the door.

I like Demetrius. He doesn't treat me like I'm crazy or stupid. In return, I don't bother him about his abuse of morphling.

I stand up, with the blanket still wrapped around me, and rifle through the drawers in my room for something to wear. I figure I needn't shower until tonight, since Demetrius just gave me a bath of cold water. I end up choosing a pair of black pants and a light blue blouse. I dry my hair and run a brush through it, then I head to the dining car for breakfast. Quint, Tamora, and Vibia are all there, sitting on one side of the table across from Layna and Nestor. I take a seat at the head of the table and pick up a piece of toast, which I nibble on as the others discuss something, probably strategy. An Avox brings me a cup of coffee as Demetrius enters the room, having dressed in different clothes since he had come to wake me up. Caius was probably still sleeping, and we probably wouldn't see him again until we got to the Capitol. I down my coffee as usual and the Avox refills my mug. As soon as Demetrius is seated across the table from me, Vibia clears her throat.

"Well, tributes, today is the day you get to really meet your mentors! Ask them anything, get to know them! They'll be your lifeline in the games," she says in a chipper voice. Demetrius glares at her.

"Actually, we were hoping to get to know you two," Tamora says, directing her comment at the tributes and ignoring Vibia, who looked slightly miffed. "We thought that Quint and I would talk to Nestor for an hour, and Layna could talk to Delia and Demetrius, and then we'd switch. Sound good?" Nestor nodded while Layna continued to stare back at her, terrified. I still wasn't convinced that she was twelve. Tamora shifts in her seat a little, uncomfortable with the long silence and Layna's stare.

"Well, then, as soon as you're finished, you can come with us, Nestor," she finishes, glancing at Quint, who nods. Nestor nods as well and continues to pick at his scrambled eggs. Vibia tries to make conversation but we all ignore her. Demetrius answers some yes/no questions from Quint about his opinions on the other tributes, they had watched replays of the reapings while I hid in my room. Demetrius is surprisingly alert today, he's probably under the influence of his beloved morphling but he hides it well. I stare across the table at him, transfixed by his dark brown eyes. They're cooler than Tamora's lighter ones, and harder than Quint's blue eyes.

Nestor finishes his meal and stands. He's more assertive than he was yesterday. Tamora nods and she and Quint stand as well and lead him from the room. Vibia bounces away, jabbering about some vital escort duty she needed to take care of. That left me and Demetrius with Layna. The room was silent as she stared down at her empty plate, I sipped my coffee, and Demetrius devoured his breakfast. As soon as he was done, I thought I should try to be a mentor.

"This is Demetrius," I tell Layna, gesturing across the table at him. He grunts as a greeting. I don't know what else to say, I've never been good at mentoring, or really talking to people at all, so I stare into Layna's eyes, wondering if she or Demetrius will continue the conversation.

"I'm going to tell this to you straight, you don't have a chance," Demetrius says bluntly, also staring at Layna.

"I know," she squeaks, the first words she's spoken since she was reaped.

"Then try to have fun while you can," Demetrius replies, barking a laugh.

To my surprise, Layna doesn't start crying. She merely nods solemnly.

The room is quiet for another few moments. The Avox refills my coffee again.

"What's your favorite color?" I blurt out. I want the topic to move away from the Games, my strange, almost mother-like urge that I felt at the reaping comes back and I want to protect Layna.

She stares at me for a moment, seemingly surprised, before replying, "Blue."

The color of her eyes.

I nod, then continue to drink my coffee. Demetrius scoffs.

"Do you have a plan? To die quickly, I mean," Demetrius asks, taking a drink from his own cup.

Layna shakes her head.

"Then the bloodbath has your name written all over it. Just run up to the Cornucopia, grab for any supplies, and just like that," he snaps his fingers, "the Games are over for you."

Layna shudders. Apparently she's come to terms with her death but not with the reality of it.

Demetrius doesn't say anything else, and honestly I'm surprised he's talked for this long. We still have almost the entire hour left, so I rack my brains for anything of use to say. After several minutes of this, Demetrius breaks the silence.

"I tell you what, kid, you've made our job a lot easier," he says, leaning towards her. I'm sent reeling by this statement.

"It's easy to watch her die?" I ask loudly, leaning forward and glaring at him. He looks slightly surprised and doesn't reply. I slowly lose the energy my anger gave me and slump back down, staring once again into my coffee mug. My outburst has brought on a headache, so I rub my temples to try to relieve the pain. An Avox picks up on this and brings me some pain medication. I swallow the pills quickly with a gulp of coffee.

After a few minutes of silence, Layna asks, "What should I show the Gamemakers?"

"Anything you want, but you'd better ask Quint and Tamora, they're in charge here," Demetrius answers slightly bitterly. He might continue to speak, but I'm not paying attention. The Avox standing in the corner is morphing between my sister and her actual self and the medicine isn't helping my headache. I grip my coffee mug as the room starts to tilt and spin around me, my breathing fast and shallow. I'm feeling more and more nauseous and the pain in my head is reaching an all-time high. I close my eyes and work to make my breathing slower. I remain like this for a few minutes until the pain, dizziness, and nausea subside a bit. I open my eyes to find Demetrius and Layna staring at me. She looks scared, as usual, and he looks fairly expressionless. He's seen me having one of these episodes before. I stand, shakily, and walk as quickly as I dare to my room. I stay there, lying on my bed with my arm covering my eyes, until I feel well again. Well, as well as I ever feel. I walk back to the dining room and Layna and Demetrius are sitting there in silence.

"I want a break from babysitting too," he says, walking out of the room. I sigh and walk over to my seat. As I sit down, Tamora and Quint walk into the room with Nestor following close behind.

"We didn't need the full hour, I hope you don't mind," Tamora says. "Layna, if you're ready."

Layna nods and stands, following Quint and Tamora out of the room. Nestor lingers in the doorway.

"Sit," I say, grasping my mug. It's cold. I nod to an Avox, who refills my cup.

Nestor sits in Layna's vacated seat and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Hello," I say softly, noting the exact color of his eyes. "I will be one of your other mentors, Demetrius is around here somewhere…" I half turn my head, wondering if Demetrius will be coming back. I look back at Nestor and he frowns at me. I follow suit as I feel the same sort of urge to be a better mentor to him as I did for Layna. "You could start by telling me about yourself," I suggest flatly.

He clears his throat, then says, "I'm Nestor. I'm seventeen years old." I sip my coffee and continue to gaze at him, having nothing else to say and wondering if he'll elaborate.

"Here's Demetrius," I murmur as he walked into the room from behind me. Demetrius sits down at the table, steals my cup from me, and chugs the rest of its contents. "This is Nestor," I introduce him, glad for something to say. Demetrius grunts in acknowledgement and gestures for an Avox to refill the cup.

"What are your strengths?" I ask, feeling the most emotion for a tribute I've ever felt.

He shrugs. "I can run, I guess, and, I don't know, I'm pretty strong."

I nod, not sure what to say.

Demetrius drains the rest of the contents of the cup, then makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snort. He turns to Nestor. "Don't win. You'll either end up like me or Delia," he slurs, then stands up, pushing the cup back to me, and stumbles out of the room with an Avox following close behind.

I stare down at my hands, which are folded on the table, not sure of what to do. I glance back up at Nestor, and we stare at each other for what seems like an eternity. I wonder what they'll do to us, since two mentors have made semi-rebellious statements within two days. Nestor stares back with some emotion I can't place. It's ringing faint bells, but I haven't seen it in so long. I continue to stare until I can figure out what is making his eyes hard like that, his mouth firm, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

It's determination.

_Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long to write this chapter! School is crazy busy and I also had some technical difficulties or I would have had it done sooner. Tigerlils, Delia is meant to be in her late twenties or early thirties, but she does act rather old. I've sort of decided the general direction I'm taking this, but no promises! Thanks for reading._


	3. Chapter 3

I am constantly in motion for the next hour or so as we approach the Capitol. My fingers or toes are always tapping in nervous anticipation. The train slows as we near the station and my fingers' methodic drumming on my thigh quickens. I'm frantically trying to suppress the memories and emotions that coincide with every trip to the Capitol.

The first year I mentored was the worst. I'm back to my nineteen-year-old self, curled up in the fetal position as Tamora and Vibia try to entice me to leave the train. I cry and shake my head, and eventually Peacekeepers are called in to escort me off the train. I shake my head to clear the memories as Tamora offers her hand to help me up from my chair instead of the ground. I take it and follow her out, ignoring the flashing cameras as best as I can. Vibia is in front of us, trying to display our two tributes as if they had a chance of winning, or maybe as if they were particularly nice slabs of meat. I think I recognize my name in the shouting of the photographers, but I can't be sure and don't respond. I merely plod on after Tamora with my head down, Quint behind me, and presumably Demetrius behind him though I can't see him.

When we reach the Training Center, the tributes are whisked away and we ride the elevator up to the sixth floor. I fight the urge to break down as I walk into the room for my twelfth games, the eleventh that I'll be mentoring. I close my eyes and shudder slightly to release some of my nervous energy but it doesn't work too well. I'm on the brink of a major flashback-induced breakdown and I can't have one right now. One of the stylists will come and give us mentors something to wear as soon as they're done with the tributes, and I need to be competent enough that I can go to the Tribute Parade. I cannot let the Capitol know of the extent of my insanity. They will make it worse.

I'm pacing around my room, counting my footsteps to try to distract myself when Layna's stylist, my stylist, Felixa, flounces in to give me my dress. It's deep purple, tight, and hits just above my knees. I wonder why they're trying to show my body. There's not much to see. In the weeks leading up to my return to the Capitol, I hardly ate. My legs and arms are as thin as twigs. Surely they don't want to see that. She gives me black tights to wear underneath and has someone do my hair and make-up. It reminds me of my chariot dress. It had been floor length, which I refused for every other dress after nearly falling off the chariot, and it was shaped like a train. I was in the peak of my beauty then and they were trying to pass me off as sexy. Needless to say, it didn't work, which ended up being a good thing. I wasn't sought after in the Capitol.

I hear a bang and realize that Felixa and the others have left the room, slamming the door behind them. I glance at the clock and then sit down on my bed. They gave me heels to wear, but I refused to put them on yet. They hurt and pain reminds me of the arena. Always the arena.

I'm back in the forest, running and panting wildly, using my remaining breath to shriek in horror as the mutt closes in on me. I reach the edge of the career camp and keep running blindly, still wailing for anyone, anyone. Arrows are shot and spears are thrown at me but I'm running my fastest and dodge them unintentionally. I wish they would hit me. I wish they would kill me. Quickly. The mutt is growing ever closer and I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't run anymore. So I stop and turn, and three of the four careers that were left bodies' are lying on the ground before me. The mutt which was half snake and half something that looked sickeningly like a human with red eyes is battling with the last career, the boy from two. The boy has a long sword, and he's taking chunks out of the monster with each swing. But it recovers quickly, growing new skin almost immediately. It whips its tail back and forth, and it's red eyes seem to grow brighter as it hisses and continues to advance. The boy is backing up, leading the thing towards me. By the time I realize this, it is too late. They are too close now. It lunges at the boy, who deftly dodges the attack, and the thing's fangs sink into my upper arm. I scream and bolt down my intended path, but my vision is getting blurry. I run into trees and rocks and something terribly like blood seems to be trickling down the back of my neck. All I can see now are colors, strange blobs of green and brown and blue and white, all slowly mixing and melding, slowly becoming less and less discernible from each other. I'm clawing at my face, trying desperately to do anything to fix my vision. It doesn't work. Slowly, slowly, I begin to walk instead of run, then stumble instead of walk as my world starts to fade to black.

"Delia! Time to go!" cries Vibia shrilly, rapping incessantly on my door. I've slipped to the floor during my flash back and am now hyperventilating with my head between my knees. Those eyes. Always those eyes. "Delia!" Vibia calls again, her voice going up half an octave. "Now!"

I whimper in response, not being able to say anything more.

"Honestly…" I hear her sigh. She opens the door and walks over to me, then yanks me up by the arm. "Come. We. Must. Go. Now!" She says, pulling my arm with each word. I whimper again and shake my head. I can't go. I can't have all those eyes watching me. "NOW!" she screams, finally pulling hard enough to get my bottom off of the floor. It hurts. I stand up because I can't handle pain, and she looks slightly pleased. "Now, Demetrius will escort you down personally, then Caius and Tamora, since she's the only one who can get him to wake up, and then Quint and I."

I nod because I don't want to have her mad at me, she is the Capitol and the Capitol will punish me if I refuse to do things. They always do. But what more can they take, really? They have taken my family, my future, and my mind. What more do I have to give?

_Author's Note: Oh my goodness, finally it's up! I've had this chapter finished for a while, but I was waiting on feedback from someone and I haven't heard back from them for over a week so I decided to just post this chapter. The good news is that I'm almost halfway through writing the next chapter, so it might be up by next week. No promises though! Thanks for all the kind reviews!_


	4. Chapter 4

I sit with the other mentors on a high balcony of some building near the president's mansion with a few past, generous sponsors during the tribute parade. I don't see any of it though, I'm too busy watching the people around me. There are those girls with blonde hair and blue eyes from district one, the shorter, fiercer mentors from District Two, the shy ones from District Three. The pretty boy from District Four and the older ones trying to rein him in, the plain, sullen ones from District Five. The fiery yet quiet ones from District Seven, the worn but angry ones from District Eight. The rest of the districts blend together for me, all look downtrodden and hopeless.

When we are allowed to leave, I trudge back to the car with my fellow mentors, knowing the worst is yet to come. The car ride is long and drawn out because of all the extra people in the streets. When we finally make it back to the Training Center, Peacekeepers help us to the doors of the tower and see us to the elevator. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as the elevator speeds to the sixth floor. We meet our tributes and their stylists inside. They must have already gotten out of their costumes since each is dressed in baggy sweat pants and a T-Shirt.

I turn away from the others to go to my room. I can hear their protests but I don't care, I need to be alone. I pull off my heels on my way and leave them strewn in the hallway. The plush carpet feels good on my feet as I keep walking, reaching up and pulling the pins out of my hair. It flops to my shoulders and I scatter the pins behind me. I enter my room and flop onto my bed, drained of all energy. I'm too tired to get out of my dress and scrub the caked-on make-up from my face, so I simply lie there, staring at the ceiling. I try to clear my mind, but I can't fight the encroaching flashbacks very well.

The room keeps slipping away and the blackness of the Arena is my new reality, the terrible pounding of my head as I drag myself along on my stomach, blind, desperately needing to get away from that hideous creature confuses me. The room slides back into focus again and I'm disoriented, I can't be sure of how much time has passed. I sit up and clutch my head, willing it to stay in what I believe to be the true reality of my room. After it stops spinning too much, I stand and change clothes, switching into my pajamas.

I brush through my hair again until Vibia taps on the door and politely forces me to come to dinner. I'm sure I look quite the mess, with smeared make-up, pajamas and slightly disheveled hair, and I actually care about it for a moment. Then I walk through the doorway to the dining room with everyone staring at Vibia's death grip on my arm and I forget about that.

I'm mesmerized by the tribute's eyes. Layna's are scared, terrified really, that depth of fear I saw on the very first day that no one could simulate. Nestor's are blank, dangerously so, I can't read him at all. It unsettles me, confuses me. He should be afraid. He should be as scared as Layna. He doesn't have a chance. Then it clicks in my head. He has a plan, and he's hiding it from us. He still doesn't have a chance of course, but he doesn't seem to know that. The arena means certain death, pain, suffering, torture. There is no hope to be found. The pretty girls with blonde hair will rip him to shreds.

Vibia jabs my side with her elbow, and I'm brought back to reality for enough time to take my seat at the opposite end of the long table as she does. The Avox that I have to remind myself is not my sister and never was serves us tonight, but I eat nothing. I can't stand to. Tamora throws me worried looks, and Quint follows her lead. Demetrius refused to join us for dinner, and Vibia inserts a command for me to eat every so often while trying to make conversation at the table.

"What a meal we have here! Surely you won't turn it down, Delia?" she says, noticing my untouched plate. I shake my head.

"I'm not hungry," I murmur, turning my head away from her.

"You must be, it's been such a long day!" she persists. I shake my head again. She sighs and turns back to Tamora, who is really the only one who talks to her.

"Wasn't the parade just fabulous? Oh, I could watch that boy from District One for ages, the costumes for One are always the most extravagant, maybe I'll be promoted next year…"

I lose interest in that conversation and turn my interest to Quint, who's trying to talk to Nestor.

"So, what did you think of the chariots? The other tributes?"

Nestor shrugs. "Typical," he responds, sinking lower in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

Quint frowns. "Did you see the male from District Two?"

"Yes."

"He's strong, more so than even the _typical_ career."

"Yes."

Quint furrows his eyebrows. "Doesn't he intimidate you?"

"Yes."

I lose interest in that conversation as well and turn back to Tamora and Vibia.

"Layna, had you ever seen horses before tonight? Wasn't it exciting?" Vibia says in the much too bright voice adults use with young children.

Layna says nothing in response, making eye contact with her but otherwise not acknowledging that she had been spoken to. Vibia frowns with dangerous anger. I again feel that mothering instinct, the urge to protect Layna. To tell her not to get on Vibia's bad side, to appease her at all costs. To tell her what happens if you don't. I shudder at these thoughts and a few pairs of eyes flick to me, then back to what they were focusing on before I broke their attention. The memory of my own games flits into my mind, I'm baracading my door, refusing to go to the final interview, to have to rehash everything I've done, everything that's happened to me.

I'm back in the dining room, my headache starting again. Layna stays mute and this is irking Vibia more and more, she turns the conversation towards the poor girl as much as she can as this train wreck of a meal drags on. Vibia raises her voice at Layna who still won't respond, Tamora tries to appease Vibia and Quint tries to comfort Layna who has silent tears streaming down her face. Nestor is as apathetic as ever and my head begins to pound. Vibia snaps at Tamora for defending Layna and then at Quint for defending Tamora. The Avox offers me more food, I refuse and must remind myself again that she is not my sister. It's too much, looking into her eyes. And I'm back, back to that horrible day when everything went wrong, everything was broken and I could never come back to the girl I once was.

I walk off the train and the camera flashes blind me. I whip my head back and forth, needing to see something, anything. I feel a hand on my shoulder as my eyes slowly acclimate to the ridiculous brightness. I turn my head and it's Tamora guiding me, Vibia in front smiling and speaking to a reporter. Tamora pushes me over to the people I'm anxiously seeking, but they don't look right. There's someone missing.

My mother is huddling next to my father. I frown. Where is she? I turn my quizzical eyes to my mother, and she starts crying. Tears are slowly seeping out of her eyes and down her face.

I look to my father. His face is blank, eyes unfocused. Tamora gives me one final shove and I take a few unsteady steps towards them. I feel my stomach sinking to my toes.

"Where… Where is she? Where's Charis?"

My mother bawls harder and Father continues to look vacantly ahead.

"Where is she?" I ask again, louder.

"Where? Where? Where where where where?" I shriek. I grab my mother's shoulders and shake her, as if the answer will fall out of her if I do so hard enough. As if the answer will somehow change from what I know it to be.

"Where is she?" I'm crying now, my shaking becoming less violent as I lose control. And my suspicions are confirmed as I look into Mother's eyes. Loss is there. I crumple at my mother's feet, sobbing. It's my fault, all my fault. My refusals have come to get me.

"Where is she?" I ask one last time, weak and broken. I get the answer from my father.

"Dead."

_Author's Note: Gosh, I'm sorry, I'm a terrible updater. I have a multitude of excuses, some of which might actually be valid, but that's beside the point. Anyway, if there are any inconsistencies with the books, please let me know. The usual disclaimers and pleas for reviews apply. _


	5. Chapter 5

"Delia? Delia, can you hear me?"

I hear Tamora's gentle voice somewhere nearby. I open my eyes and realize that I'm curled up on the floor, underneath the table. My eyes are wet. I turn my head slightly and see Tamora kneeling beside me.

"It's not real, Delia. It's not real," she says soothingly. I realize I'm making terrible gasping noises and try to quiet myself. I get half way there, taking deep breaths that are still very audible.

"Can I help you up?" She asks, extending a hand. I nod and take it, using my other hand to wipe my eyes. The room is silent but for my shaky gasps. I realize Tamora and I are the only ones there.

"How…How long…" I try to formulate the question but can't quite get it out.

Tamora drops my hand. "Just a few minutes." She pauses and stares at me for a moment, frowning slightly. "It's that Avox, isn't it?" she says kindly and condescendingly at the same time. Tamora pities me and is kind, but she doesn't understand. No one does.

She thinks I'm crazy, and I'm starting to agree.

I nod once and turn, walking unsteadily out of the room. I make my way to my room and throw myself onto my bed. And I cry. I cry for my sister, for my mother, my father, my sanity. I cry for all the children I've sent to slaughter. I cry for the two more sitting in the living room. And eventually, I cry myself to sleep.

* * *

I wake the next morning as tired as I was the night before. It is early, the sun is just beginning to peak up to dispel the starless night of the Capitol. I lay there for a while, not sure of my ability to rise. Eventually, I somehow muster the strength and kick back the light sheets of my all too comfortable bed and get up. Just like I do every morning.

I shower and dress and end up ready for the day ahead of schedule. I sit on my bed and curl my knees up to my chest protectively. I cannot force myself to leave the relative security of my room. Out there, training is about to begin. I am expected to give advice to my tributes, to offer them tips on how to survive. But there are no tips, there is no way to be prepared for the horror that is the arena. No way to know how people will change, no way to predict who will be able to kill and who will not. How can I give advice when I won on an almost technicality?

I shudder as I remember waking up in the strange, plastic room, not remembering anything that had happened. A strange woman walked in with a plastic smile on her face. She handed me a cup of water.

"You hit your head pretty hard and had a nasty concussion, you lost a lot of blood and had various, more minor scrapes and cuts. And then there are your eyes."

I shudder, not allowing myself to go further into the memory. It's the only one I can block out. Instead, my mind jumps back to where it was last night. I was sobbing at my mother's feet, just having gotten news that my sister was dead. The only thing that kept me going through the games was gone. The Peacekeepers picked me up and dragged me to a new house in the Victor's Village. A place they're calling home. They deposited me and my sad little, broken little family in the entry way and leave. I turned on my parents.

"How? Why?" I asked, frantically pacing back and forth. I was trying desperately not to lose myself, but it was a struggle trying to fight off the little mundane memories of my sister. Her smile. The way she flipped her hair. Her eyes.

Mother slumped into a chair and covered her face with her hands, sobbing loudly. I turned to Father. His eyes were still glassy, he was focusing on something above my head.

"She was walking home from school. They say it was an accident," he said, not blinking.

"What?" I asked, continuing to pace. My emotions were so confused I didn't know whether to drop to the ground crying or through a chair though the window out of anger. All relief of homecoming had vanished. I wished I was anywhere but there, even returning to the Capitol would be better than standing in this room, knowing that my sister was gone. I'd take the ignorance of the Capitol any day.

"They say she was standing on the tracks. They say there was nothing the engineer could have done," Father continued in his monotone.

"You mean…" I trailed off, unable to finish the awful sentence. I stopped pacing, hands hanging limply at my sides, face crumpled.

"She was hit by a train. The day of your final interview."

The interview I had initially refused to go to. The interview I ruined by having a nervous breakdown. The interview that killed my sister.

"Delia! Come to breakfast!"

Vibia's screeches jar me back to the present. I comply with her orders, the reminder of what happens when I don't fresh in my brain.

I enter the silent dining room and take my seat at the head of the table. Vibia sits next to Quint and Tamora, who are sitting opposite Layna and Nestor. Caius is, of course, absent, probably still asleep and Demetrius is probably injecting his beloved morphling to get him through the day. I refuse a plate from an Avox and accept only a cup of coffee.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Vibia's frequent chattering and the soft scrapes of utensils against plates are the only noises to distract me. They're not enough to keep me in the present and my mind keeps flitting back to the day I returned home from the Capitol for the first time. So I study the tributes in a futile effort, putting off the inevitable.

It's obvious Layna's been crying, her eyes are red. Nestor is still disturbingly cool, also remaining silent. Vibia tries to make small talk but Tamora, the only one who really talks to her, seems preoccupied. She merely murmurs assent to whatever Vibia says, staring off into the distance. Quint frowns at her.

"Tamora, are you all right?"

"Hmm?" She replies, meeting his eyes for a moment. "Oh yes, I'm fine," she replies, then returns to staring at the wall above Layna's head. I don't blame her.

Quint smiles feebly at me when he catches me studying his eyes and asks me how I slept. I merely cock my head to the side. Victors don't sleep well as a rule. His small smile drops and he turns away.

When the Avoxes clear away the hardly touched plates, Tamora clears her throat and locks eyes with the tributes.

"Training starts today. Target your weaknesses. Learn survival skills. Save the weapons for tomorrow." Layna nods once, panic-stricken with wide eyes, while Nestor crosses his arms over his chest and frowns.

"But what if my weaknesses are with weapons? Shouldn't I learn those today?"

Tamora shakes her head, frowning. "Trust me, the Career pack will be all over the weaponry stations today, trying to show off their skills. You don't want to get caught up in that. And you don't want them seeing how weak you are. Plus, if you happen to take a shine to the weapon one of them specializes in, that one will hunt you down personally, to make sure that you don't get that weapon in the arena."

Nestor furrows his eyebrows and sulks in his seat until Vibia decides it's time to take the tributes down to training. I feel I must say something as this new desire to be a real mentor kicks in again. I put a hand on Layna's shoulder as she walks out of the door. She turns her wide eyes to me.

"Good luck," I tell her, suddenly losing my nerve and unable to think of anything else to say. I drop my hand from her shoulder. She nods once before leaving the room.

_Author's Note: It's been brought to my attention that it might be a rule in the Hunger Games that only two mentors are allowed per district, but I haven't been able to find anything definitive about this in any of the books. If anyone knows, or if they would like to help me in my search, let me know! Thanks._


	6. Chapter 6

Tamora and Quint are taking the lead mentoring role today, as usual, as they are the only two that aren't addicted to something, sane, and can stay awake for longer than thirty seconds. We sit around and wait for Vibia to return from escorting the tributes down to training.

Quint and Tamora exchange a few words on who they will target as sponsors and if they would try to make alliances. Quint is all for it while Tamora despises the idea. I only vaguely hear their arguing as I glance around the room, taking a sip of coffee every so often. I don't enjoy the taste, but the caffeine is essential to keeping me awake.

Demetrius walks in and takes a plate piled high with food either moments or hours after Vibia leaves. She returns right as he finishes. He leaves the room as soon as she opens her mouth.

Vibia frowns and calls after him, but he keeps walking. I wish I could do the same. But I can't let them see how broken I am.

Vibia says something to either Tamora or Quint, or both, but I don't register it. Then all three leave to scout out sponsors and talk up the tributes. The children.

This means I have the whole day to myself. I shudder at the thought. I walk quickly to my room. It's relatively safe in there, seeing as there are no TV screens.

No eyes.

I pace around my room in an effort to keep my mind in the present. It doesn't work, it never works. Instead, I try focusing on the Capitol outside my window, but the freakish people that barely look like human beings are disturbing more than comforting. A woman with forest green hair and skin walks busily by. She is the same color as the arena.

I remember running, running from the glinting gold horn of death, and hiding. Hiding in trees, hiding in bushes, just hiding. Living off of tree bark and, at the beginning, a sponsor's gift of a few strips of beef jerky and a small bottle of water.

I remember running, running from the pack of Careers, hell bent on killing me. But I ran faster, and they got tired. Convinced that I would die of a lack of survival skills sooner rather than later, they spent no more time on me.

And of course, I remember running, running from the mutt sent to kill me. But, somehow, it killed the Careers first and I, on my final few breaths and struck blind by the venom of the monster, was picked up by a hovercraft. I had won the 19th Annual Hunger Games.

The next thing I remember is waking up and having forgotten everything. The memory I've been fighting all week, and really ever since it happened, floods my mind.

"You hit your head pretty hard and had a nasty concussion, you lost a lot of blood and had various, more minor scrapes and cuts. And then there are your eyes," the woman tells me. She smiles and holds up a hand mirror. I scream.

Because the face in the mirror is not mine. Surely it cannot be mine.

The eyes are blue.

My eyes are green.

I continue to shriek and wail out of pure horror until the woman has to sedate me. I then remember waking up again, thinking I was waking up from a terrible nightmare. But my relief faded as I recognized the plastic room and the plastic-smiled woman walked in again. I fought the urge to scream. It would do me no good.

"Now, you've had a nice little rest, haven't you? I didn't get a chance to tell you before you got so upset, but back to your eyes. They've been replaced with those of a generous donor."

"Whose are they?" I ask, the first words I've spoken in a long, long time. My voice is hoarse and low, almost accusatory. But I reign myself in, working to get answers this time. She will not sedate me again.

The woman's smile falters, but returns again, if a bit more false. "That's not necessary information, dear. All you need to know is that you're fine, and you can see. Isn't that what you want?"

And I don't know how to respond. Is that what I want? All I wanted for what seemed like forever was to survive, to come out of the arena. But now what do I want?

"Isn't it?" I murmur in reply, looking away. She smiles more fiercely, more insincerely.

"Yes, dear, it is. It's exactly what you want. But enough of this sad talk! Congratulations! You're the victor of the 19th Annual Hunger Games! What pride you've brought to your district!"

I laughed once; a cruel, broken, beaten laugh. Oh yes, pride for my district. That's what I was playing these games for, that's what I'm happy about. Pride for my district. Not living another day, but pride for my district. Not food for my district, pride for my district.

The woman seemed unsettled by this show of frustration and frowned for a second, then her utterly fake smile returned. "Well, now you know everything. I'm going to check you over, then send you on your way!"

I stared at her blankly. My way to where? She picked up on my confusion.

"I've forgotten, you're heavily medicated… You're being presented as Victor tonight! Aren't you just so excited?"

"Aren't I?" I murmured, again looking away. She squirmed at my repeated vague answer.

She walked around to the machines I was hooked up to and slid a finger across a touch pad at eye level on one of the machines. She studied it for a moment, then turned back to me. "Your mentors will come to pick you up shortly."

And then she walked out of the room, and I never saw her again.

I refuse to allow myself to remember anything else from that night pull myself up. There must be something I can do, anything I can do. Something to keep my hands occupied. I spend every moment back home gardening, pulling weeds and planting seeds and doing anything to keep my mind on the dirt. When it's cold, I buy seeds and plan my garden for the next growing season. But I have to spend important months of the growing season in the summer here in the Capitol. Every year when I get home, my garden is dead. The plants are brown and withering and begging me to put them out of their misery. So I rip them all up and start fresh the next year.

I continue to pace around my room, absentmindedly scratching my arm in an attempt to keep my hands busy. I must find something to do.

Anything.

So I leave my room and enter the sitting room in an effort to find someone, anyone to distract myself with. All I'm faced with is the giant TV screen dominating most of the far wall. It stops me dead, and I must breathe deeply for a minute to regain my semblance of composure. The deaths, over and over and over, happen on that screen. And this is just the beginning. My aversion to it will only increase with each passing day as my district's tributes, my tributes, march closer and closer to the horrors of the arena. I will see their demise on that screen.

And it terrifies me.

I realize that I've become too attached. I've given the Capitol the power to break me into even smaller pieces by caring about the tributes, the pawns in their Games. They'll break me beyond repair, beyond even a slight semblance to the girl that was reaped so many years ago.

My breathing hikes and I can feel my heart beat increase as well. I clutch my head as it begins to pound. I breathe slowly and deeply, trying to calm myself, but the room starts to spin. I slowly sink into a chair nearby and put my head between my knees in an effort to relieve the nausea the spinning room as brought on. I try to clear my mind, but it doesn't work. It is in this pose that an Avox finds me and gently taps my shoulder. I look up at him, relieved he isn't the woman who looks like my sister. He offers me some pain medication and my mug filled with piping hot coffee.

They know me too well here.

I take them from him and retreat back to my room. He's chased my previous thoughts from my head for a few moments, but they come crashing back to me as I slump against my door and quickly swallow the pills. I slide down the door and sit with my knees curled to my chest

After a few minutes, the pounding in my head subsides a bit. But the pills don't fix my awful emptiness. And again I think that I must have something to do. So I swallow, or rather gulp, and then stand. I walk out of my room and wander down the hallway, seeing a different scene every time I blink. A forest. The hallway. A grave. The hallway. A stage. The hallway. I shake my head, trying to clear it. I continue to roam the hallways until I find myself in front of Demetrius's door. I pause for a second then decide I must keep moving, so I go against my better judgment and knock. I hear a grunt and the sounds of him stumbling to the door.

"What?" he asks venomously, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"I need to do something. Anything," I murmur in reply.

"Like what?"

"Anything."

"Go to the roof. Take a nap. I don't know, Delia."

I don't respond for a moment, studying his dark eyes. They're clearer than I'd expect them to be, they betray no emotion but exasperation. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Survive here, in the Capitol."

"How do you think?"

"Morphling."

"Yeah." He pauses and yawns. " You should try it sometime. Works wonders on nightmares."

I take a step back, shaking my head. "No."

He raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"

I shake my head harder and faster. "It's theirs. I'd be theirs."

"Sometimes you don't make any sense."

I sigh.


	7. Chapter 7

I spend the day pacing. In my room, on the roof, in the hallway in front of the elevator. I must keep moving. I resolve to be a part of the sponsor grabbing tomorrow, just so I can have something to do. The pacing helps very little, as it did this morning, and I am relieved when an Avox beckons me to the table for dinner. At least it will be something to do.

Vibia, Tamora and Quint must still be out collecting sponsors. Collecting extra minutes or hours for our tributes, who have just arrived back from training.

And I'm struck by the futility of it, of everything. Sponsors can never give enough to save our children and the training is even more pointless. The Games have changed, so no one could win the way I did now. The Game Makers made sure of it. They want Careers as winners. They want strong, pretty eighteen year olds from Districts One, Two and Four to represent the glory of their regime of terror.

They don't want another failure of a Victor like me.

Demetrius walks into the room and drops into the seat across from me, snapping me out of my reverie. I shouldn't be surprised by it, seeing as this is a Vibia-free meal, which are so rare to come by that they should be taken full advantage of, but I am. I stare at him, analyzing his movements, his eyes. They are again more focused than I have come to expect from him. Most of the time he injects morphling in the morning and drifts through the rest of his day in a foggy haze, never really seeing or hearing or feeling anything. And then when the world starts to become too real for him, too harsh and cold and angular, he injects some more. But his eyes are sharp today, and his hands shake. He's not on the morphling, and he's feeling the repercussions.

And I feel something, something that makes my eyebrows turn down like my mouth and makes my chest ache slightly. It takes me a minute, but I finally realize what the emotion is. Sympathy.

The tributes, the children, arrive soon after he does. They sit in their places from breakfast this morning, next to each other on one side of the table.

The silence is nearly complete as we eat dinner. Layna eats quickly, as though she'll never get another meal, while Nestor seems to contemplate every bite before he takes it. His dark eyes are stormy. He has a plan. And he won't tell us.

Not that we have any right to know. We are as much pieces of the Capitol's Games as he is and the only reason he would have to trust us is that we are all he has. If he doesn't trust us, he goes into this crazy game blind and with no help from anyone on the outside, which would be suicide. And maybe that's what he wants. Maybe that's what he should want.

Demetrius clears his throat, forcing me back to reality. His hands are clasped firmly together on the table in front of him, but I can still see that they're shaking.

"Since it's just us, no Vibia or Tamora or Quint," he pauses on the name, giving it extra malice, and moves his ever more violently shaking hands beneath the table. Maybe he hopes the children will think they shake from rage. But I know better. I know him better.

I remember his face being the thing I focused on as I walked up the stairs at my Reaping, after Vibia read out my name to my District, sealing my fate. Before I can delve deeper into the memory, he continues talking.

"You're each hiding something. I can feel it. Tamora and Quint are the capable ones, but you can't tell them anything that differs from the plan they've set out for you, and Lord knows the only things you can trust Vibia with are lies, so we're all you've got. Delia and I, we have no agenda. We don't care whether you want to come back or if you plan to die in the arena, we couldn't care less if you want to slaughter those kids who stand for everything that oppresses you or if you won't want to hurt a fly once you get in there. And we won't lie to you. Tamora and Quint and Vibia might try to convince you that you've got a chance in that arena because they're trying to convince themselves. We don't need to."

He pauses to smile grimly and locks eyes with me for a moment. "We're too far gone. But I think I speak for the both of us when I say that we want to help you. We want you to succeed with whatever it is, be it a suicide mission or a revenge rampage or whatever the hell else you might want. But if you're not straight with us, there's nothing we can do. So if you want whatever help we can give, you'd better start spilling your guts now." He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, hiding his trembling hands in his armpits.

I study Layna first, as she seems to be more receptive to "spilling her guts" as Demetrius so elegantly put it. She's trembling and staring at Demetrius, obviously terrified of his blunt speech. I'm troubled that I can't see her eyes, since she's turned away from me. So I shift my focus to Nestor and am surprised to find his eyes on me. He is obviously angry.

"So you speak for her, too?" he asks, apparently talking to Demetrius but never looking away from me. I refuse to blink.

"Only because she doesn't want to speak for herself. She doesn't like you, Nestor, in fact, none of us do. But she's to polite to say it," Demetrius replies. I'm too focused on Nestor to turn to see where Demetrius is looking, whether it's at me or at Nestor.

Nestor's head whips back to Demetrius. "She's barely talked this whole time! You all are a pack of frauds. You tell us what to do, and when and how to do it, but you never talk about your games, the only useful advice you have to give us! For instance, how the hell did she win? If someone like that," he flings an arm in my direction in a wild gesture, "who can't even talk without having some sort of meltdown, can be the only one out of 24 to survive, then it seems that everyone should be able to. How did she win?"

"I didn't." I say, and all heads snap back to me, as if they had forgotten I was here. I take a few deep breaths and prepare to make a speech. I'm so angry that they've forgotten about me and somehow have the right to talk about me like that, like I'm a confused child that's not even in the room, that I forget. I forget that they killed my sister and that I'm supposed to be crazy and that the sight of a certain person breaks me.

"There are no winners in these Games," I start, " They have made me who you see now. I wasn't like this in the arena, I assumed that was painfully obvious. You want to know how I survived? I ran faster than everything trying to kill me. And you would never ever be able to do that, because they've made them faster. The Careers, the mutts, everything is faster and scarier and deadlier. So no, I didn't tell you how I survived because it's completely useless information. You have to find your own way, and we all know you've got a plan. But you won't tell us. If you want to go it alone, be my guest. But if you want us to get you sponsors, then you're going to have to grow up and let some people who know what they're doing talk to you. I've sent 20 children into ten different arenas and seen 19 of their caskets come out. What do you need to win the Hunger Games? A whole lot of luck."

And I storm out of the room.

* * *

Demetrius walks into my room a while later, I can't tell how long.

"I don't know if you care," he says, closing the door behind him, "but Nestor told me his plan. He wants to hop on the Career bandwagon of death."

I'm lying on my bed with an arm flung over my head. I've been crying since I left the room and reliving my worst moments in flashbacks. They remind me that I'm insane.

I turn my head slightly to look at Demetrius, who's leaning against my closed door with his arms folded over his chest.

"He wants to be a Career?" I croak.

"I thought that was painfully obvious," he says, quoting my earlier statement and mimicking my voice. "I didn't know you had that in you."

And I feel like there's something I should say back. There's a retort on the tip of my tongue, but I can't get it out. So I shrug.

"Layna didn't say anything though. Maybe I was wrong about her hiding something."

I don't reply. I want him to leave, so I can be alone and go to sleep. Usually, sleep isn't welcome because of the nightmares, but my outburst has exhausted me so much I long for it.

"We're going out in search of sponsors first thing in the morning, you and me," he says as he turns to leave the room. "Wear something nice."

I don't have the energy left to process this as I drift off to sleep.

_Author's Note: Sorry this took so long! I've been really busy and I got pretty discouraged from writing this story for a while, but the inspiration is back. I'll try to update this next weekend! _

_I haven't heard anything from anyone about the mentors question, so I'm assuming that it doesn't bother any of the people reading this. So I'm not going to change it. However, if someone finds proof that only two mentors are allowed per district, then I can slightly change the story to coincide with that fact. If there are any problems PLEASE let me know. I strive to make this story the very best it can be and I can't do that without feedback. So t__hanks for reading and please review! _


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